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371 pages, Kindle Edition
First published October 29, 2019


“Is it something about me? Or do you feel as though you can treat all men as though what we feel is of no consequence?"
Being in a room that contained her was better than being in a room that did not contain her.
“I should like it if we could be friends, Lord Bolt.”
She sounded appallingly sincere. A silence spread like a stain.
“Friends?” he managed finally, on something like a croak, as though she’d extended a silver platter upon which rested his own testicles.
















It occurred to him that whatever she needed, no matter what it was, he’d be too happy to provide. Holding her hand had seemed absurdly profound. Laughably so. It brought home to him that something about her had indeed stripped him down to a strange, raw newness. As if he was once again a green boy quivering at the very thought of the touch of a female. His thoughts careened between resentment and bemused wonderment, but came to rest on one certainty: even if he never experienced the glory of touching the rest of her, he’d still rush to help her up if she should ever stumble. If she should ever need him. No matter when. No matter where.
“Is it something about me? Or do you feel as though you can treat all men as though what we feel is of no consequence?"
But what surprised her most was the gratitude for everything, including all the heartbreaks, upheavals, betrayals she’d so far known. The wrong men had simply prepared her to recognize the right one. The seemingly wrong turns had led her precisely to where she wished to be.